Leon stared at his father's hunting bow, frustration bubbling. The bow was powerful, but even at ten years old, he struggled to pull it fully taut—he needed a weapon that was strong but easy to load, something he could use to hunt small game or defend himself in the forest. His mind drifted to the stories Eldrin had told of his adventures, of weapons that combined strength and ingenuity—and then he remembered: eccentric wheels. A crossbow with eccentric wheels would use leverage to make drawing the string easier, without sacrificing power.
He ran to find Garin, who was mending the bakery's roof. "Father, can you help me make a crossbow?" he asked. "Not a regular one—with wheels on the sides, to make it easier to pull." Garin raised an eyebrow; he'd made bows before, but crossbows were more complex. "I've got a piece of yew wood that's been drying for three years," he said. "It's hard enough for a bow. But wheels? I don't know about that."
Leon's eyes lit up. "I'll figure out the wheels," he promised. "Just help me with the bow and the stock."
Over the next week, Garin carved the yew wood into a curved bow, its shape optimized for tension, and fashioned a sturdy stock from elm wood. He even made two extra simple bows while he was at it—one for Isabella, one for himself. Leon, meanwhile, immersed himself in old knowledge: he dug through his memory of Earth's physics, recalling lessons about levers and pulleys, trigonometry and force. He sketched designs in the sand, testing small models with flexible branches and twine.
His first attempt at eccentric wheels, carved from cow bone, was a failure—the bone was too brittle, and the wheels didn't rotate smoothly. Undeterred, Leon made a model from hardwood, sanding it until the wheels turned freely. He realized that hollowing out the center would reduce weight without losing strength, so he carved small holes in the wooden wheels, then made a clay mold of the design.
Garin took the mold to the blacksmith in Sarneth Town, who cast two bronze eccentric wheels—shiny, golden, and perfectly balanced. When Leon attached them to the crossbow's limbs, they looked like small wings, catching the light.
Next came the string. Garin's usual bowstrings were made of hemp, but Leon needed something stronger and longer—three times the length of a regular bowstring, to work with the eccentric wheels. He gathered long hemp fibers, mixed them with strands of horsehair from the village's old mare, and boiled fish bladder to make a sticky glue. He twisted the fibers tightly, coated them with the glue, and let them dry—strong, flexible, and resistant to moisture.
Finally, he added a bronze trigger mechanism, custom-made by the blacksmith, and attached a hemp loop at the front of the stock—so he could plant his foot in the loop and pull the string back with his hands, using his body weight for leverage.
The finished crossbow was a thing of beauty: yew wood bow, elm wood stock, bronze eccentric wheels glowing like gold, and a thick, glossy string. Leon tested it in the forest behind the village—he planted his foot, pulled the string back with ease (far easier than his father's bow), aimed at a tree thirty meters away, and squeezed the trigger. The arrow buried itself deep in the trunk, quivering.
"Wow," Bart breathed, watching from the sidelines. He'd followed Leon to see the finished weapon, his eyes wide with envy. "That's amazing. How does it work so easily?"
Leon grinned. "The wheels," he said. "They change the leverage—when you pull the string, the wheels rotate, making the force you need smaller. Not all crossbows have this." He didn't bother explaining the physics—Bart wouldn't care—but he was proud of figuring it out.
He took the crossbow to show Eldrin that afternoon. The old man sat in his yard,晒太阳, but when he saw the crossbow, he leaned forward, his eyes sharp. He ran his gnarled hand over the bronze wheels, his fingers lingering on the trigger. For a long moment, he said nothing.
"Master?" Leon asked, worried he'd made a mistake.
Eldrin looked up, his gaze heavy. "It's well-made," he said. "Strong. Powerful. But remember, Leon—strength without responsibility is dangerous. This weapon can hurt, even kill. Use it wisely. I once knew a man who relied too much on his weapons… and it cost him everything."
Leon nodded, sobered. He hadn't thought about the crossbow as a weapon of harm—only as a tool for hunting and protection. "I will, Master," he said.
Eldrin patted his hand. "I know you will. You're wiser than most your age. Now—let me see it shoot again. I want to see just how powerful it is."
As Leon lifted the crossbow, he felt a new sense of respect for the tool he'd built. It wasn't just wood and metal—it was a promise to use his skills carefully, to honor the lessons Eldrin had taught him. For the first time, he understood that true strength wasn't about force—it was about knowing when and how to use what you had.